Mea Culpa
by Frensayce
Summary: Church sex! Prompt fill from the glee kink meme. May be offensive to some, and a guilty pleasure for others. One Shot.


**Title: ** Mea Culpa  
**Author: **Frensayce  
**Rating: **R/NC-17  
**Pairing: **Rachel/Quinn  
**Spoilers:** Season One only  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Glee, but I do take full responsibility for the fate of my soul.  
**Summary: **Church sex. Filled this prompt at the glee_kink_meme a few months ago. May be offensive to some, and a guilty pleasure for others.  
A/N: Unbeta'd. **One shot**.

* * *

Sweaty fingers toyed with the rosary in her hand. She wasn't praying, just weaving through the beads as she kneeled in the stifling confessional. Saint Gerard's Church offered Reconciliation twice a week: Saturdays before the five o'clock Mass, and Wednesdays following the Devotions to Our Lady of Perpetual Help. Quinn remembered those. As a student here she attended Mass every Friday morning at eight, and spent her Wednesday afternoons reciting prayers staring at a reproduction of that famous Byzantine icon of the Madonna and Child. Her mother was at the shrine right now, probably lighting a candle and praying for her heathen daughter.

The rolling click of the warm glass beads and sterling silver links was like a long forgotten lullaby. It was a First Communion present from her grandmother and Quinn adored it. All the other girls had generic ones that matched their bright white dresses, but hers was cobalt blue and had been custom made with the Blessed Virgin Mary on one side of the centerpiece and Saint Cecilia, patron of music, on the other. Gram had always called Quinn her angel, and said she sang like one, too. Thank God the woman hadn't lived to see how far her little angel had fallen.

The blonde rolled her neck and kept playing with the rosary, winding and unwinding the strung bead between her fingers and around her wrist as she considered praying for patience. (She'd been waiting to give confession for ten minutes.) She guessed it wouldn't matter, though; God stopped listening the day she held that pregnancy test in her hand begging for a minus sign. Still, that hadn't deterred her from reaching out for salvation over the last nine months. Old habits die hard, and some never die at all.

She dropped her forehead against the tiny screen partition and leaned her forearms on the top of the prayer desk, waiting. Soon enough, she heard the door to the priest's compartment creak open, and the partition skidded aside. Eyes closed, she righted herself and began, making the Sign of the Cross.

"In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritu Sancti."

"You know Latin? That's… unexpectedly sexy."

Quinn's eyes snapped opened and a strangled gasp left her. "Rachel?"

Frantic hazel eyes tried to focus through the partition: the slats were nothing but thin, ornate carvings and didn't provide any true anonymity; it was the thought that counted. Sure enough, it was Rachel Berry.

"What the hell are you doing here?" She closed her eyes. If she couldn't see it, it wasn't real, right?

The rustling of clothes and the opening and closing of doors explained the lack of response as her girlfriend moved from the priest's side to Quinn's, settling behind her.

"You'll need to add swearing to your list of sins." She leaned in and nipped at the blonde's ear.

Quinn shivered. "What are you doing?" She tried to scoot away when a warm tongue swirled over her neck. The low, husky laugh she heard in reply sent a rush of heat through her skin and wetness straight to her panties.

A single bare thigh muscled its way between her legs as Rachel dropped behind her on the kneeler and her eyes went wide as she felt the burn of Rachel's body against hers. The brunette reached around and undid a few buttons along the front of Quinn's summer dress, pulling the fabric apart, and she was too shocked to slap Rachel away. Goosebumps covered her torso as a delicate hand teased across her stomach before Rachel tugged the parted neckline of the dress down to expose Quinn's shoulders and trailed opened mouth kisses along her skin. The singer hiked the bottom of Quinn's yellow dress up around her waist and she gripped either side of the prayer desk to steady herself and resist the temptation, but when slim fingers danced from the lacy bottom of Quinn's bra down to the top of her matching underwear and skimmed along the elastic band, the taller girl hissed and pushed back into her girlfriend in desperation.

"This isn't funny—we're in church!" Willing rationality to return even as her body betrayed her, she closed her eyes to block out the reality that they were in her childhood parish and she was soaking through her underwear. Yes, it was sudden, and she'd been caught completely off guard, but her body knew Rachel's touch, and it responded just as quickly and dramatically as if there'd been hours of foreplay.

Rachel chuckled, her chest vibrating against Quinn's back. "Which is why you need to be quiet. People are praying."

The blonde moaned. This was wrong. So very wrong. And they could get caught. While the fact she had a girlfriend didn't bring her the same guilt it had in the beginning of their relationship, it didn't mean it was completely gone or that she was ready to announce her newfound sexuality anytime soon. Quinn couldn't help but feel ashamed right now. Even if the Holy See had no problem with people _being_ gay, there was still that whole clause of _acting _on those homosexual urges. And having hot, sneaky, sex with her Jewish, secret girlfriend in the church where she was baptized was definitely quite the act. Rachel's hands explored everywhere they could reach: breasts, stomach, hips, and thighs. She scratched short nails down Quinn's fabric covered back then up the backs of her legs and over her ass. Jesus, this was probably the wickedest thing she'd ever done in her life and Rachel had barely begun.

Idly, she wondered whether this was a mortal or venial sin before focusing on how to make her girlfriend stop. But when Rachel gripped her chin and forced her face back for a deep kiss, she figured the bigger sin was in naming the brunette as her new deity.

Rachel's hand teased the blonde's nipples through her bra as she whispered in her ear. "If you want me to stop, I will." Her other hand cupped Quinn through her damp panties and they both groaned. "But I don't think you want me to." Rachel pressed their bodies together, forcing Quinn to lean forward.

She dropped the sweetest kisses over the exposed planes of Quinn's shoulders and back, bending her over the top of the kneeler. Quinn braced herself against the wooden paneling of the confessional, her hands and forearms flush with the wall, and her rosary still wrapped around her wrist with the bright blue beads jingling and knocking at the flat surface. She moaned in frustration and flattened her cheek against the cool wood when Rachel's hands left her, only to gasp as her panties were tugged down to her bent knees. Two fingers skated up and down her weeping slit from behind and her body rocked in search of something—anything—more. Rachel rubbed her up and down, drawing out more of her wetness, and she arched, spreading her legs as wide as she could.

Well, she just lost the crusade against concupiscence.

"_Mihi ignosca_," she breathed, asking God to forgive her with words she didn't remember knowing.

Rachel growled and Quinn looked over her shoulder in confusion. The brunette's cheeks were red, her nostrils flared, and her brown eyes looked black in the semi-darkness as she positioned those blessed fingers of hers at Quinn's slick opening.

She whined and pushed back against the unmoving fingers. Sister Margaret always told her that she needed to pray for the strength to endure earthly torments, but Quinn never claimed the virtue of fortitude, and she was nigh on positive the good Sister didn't mean this kind of torture.

The tip of one finger slid inside of her and she groaned, wondering if she was simultaneously damning her soul while finding Heaven. Her eyes squeezed shut, and she heard God in her head. God sounded a lot like Rachel.

"I have to say, Quinn, hearing you speak Latin is surprisingly arousing."

Quinn pitched back again. Another finger slipped into her and she bit her lip, offering her up her sighs and choking back prayers she learned in Sunday school.

God kept talking.

"More, Quinn. I want to hear you."

She came here to confess, so she might as well do it. "_Peccavi,_" she rasped. Yes, Lord, she'd sinned. A lot.

Three fingers entered her and she cried out, the sound muffled against the confessional wall. The fiery love for God she hadn't felt in years kindled not in her heart but low in her belly and between her legs. Rachel's fingers burned as they stretched her. She'd never taken this many before, and baby or no, Quinn was tight and always had been. The pain spread through her so sweetly she finally understood her Catechism about holy suffering: Rachel was hurting her and she'd never felt anything so unspeakably glorious.

The brunette rammed into her, penetrating deeply. She dropped her head backward to Rachel's shoulder and pushed back on to those divine fingers, awed at the thrill she felt in her depravity and fully aware she shouldn't. Here she was: on her knees in the church where she was Confirmed, bracing her hands against the confessional as her lover pounded into her so hard that the top of the prayer desk bumped the wall with a dull thud at each thrust.

Guilt twisted within her the same time Rachel's fingers did and her eyes snapped open when Rachel found the spot inside that made her thighs quake. Her hazel eyes caught sight of the crucifix swaying to and fro as it dangled from the rosary about her wrist, reminding her that Christ could see this, that she was making God an accessory to her sin. Rachel pulled all the way out and bit her shoulder blade while slamming back into her. Her efforts to muffle her scream left the taste of copper in her mouth. Screw it, she had a new God now, one who was not only an accessory to her deviance, but the instigator.

Her body was well on its way to ecstasy. "Rachel…" she whined. "Baby, I'm so close."

Reaching behind her, she pulled Rachel's hips tight, creating a new rhythm with her girlfriend grinding against her. She whispered fervent prayers for Rachel to hurry. Instead, the brunette prolonged her suffering as much as possible, but Quinn had never learned patience. She wasn't patient in suffering the so-called human separation from God, and she sure as hell wasn't about to be patient in suffering separation from her orgasm. No; this was all about instant gratification. She reached between her own legs, gasping at how drenched her thighs were. A single finger circled her throbbing and very swollen clit and she shuddered.

"No." The diva ripped Quinn's hand away, but sped up her thrusts and tightened her free arm around the blonde's waist, apparently determined to keep Quinn in limbo a little bit longer. "You want to come, baby?"

The blonde nodded.

"Then what do you say?"

"Now," she growled, not happy with Rachel's obvious power-trip.

"Ask the right way."

Enlightenment fell upon her. Maybe Quinn wasn't so above giving in to the brunette's desires. Or above begging for mercy. "_Miserere mei_."

"Fuck yes." Rachel's hips jerked forward, grinding harder against Quinn's ass as her fingers moved faster. "Don't stop."

Not possessing the wherewithal to question why her Jewish girlfriend was so turned on by Catholic prayers recited in Latin, she simply obeyed. She barely made it through the beginning of her third _Ave Maria _when Rachel started bucking and dropped her free hand from Quinn's torso to the apex between her thighs, frantically rubbing Quinn's clit, while moaning into her neck. Continuing, she chanted through the prayer mechanically, barely noticing how her fingers searched for the glass beads of her rosary out of habit, and hoped to high Heaven she wouldn't have to go through a whole decade before Rachel got her off. Suddenly, the brunette's teeth latched to the back of her neck while those deceptively strong fingers shattered her from within.

"Jesus Christ!" Quinn cried out as Rachel sent them both flying over the edge. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck," she panted breathlessly.

"Oh God, _Quinn_," Rachel whined into the back of her neck as she came right along with her.

Their heavy breaths chanted in chorus in the stillness of the confessional, their alternate responses creating a kind of hymn of sex. Quinn slumped forward, whimpering as Rachel pulled out. She heard the wet suction of the brunette cleaning her fingers and quaked with aftershocks. Sighing, she then collapsed backward, trusting her girlfriend to catch her. Rachel did not disappoint.

Loving arms carefully wrapped around her and Quinn closed her eyes while a warm mouth dropped gentle kisses over as much skin as they could reach. She was done. Completely exhausted and still shaking. The tenderness with which Rachel held her was overwhelming, and tears streaked down her flushed cheeks from behind closed lids. She didn't even have the energy to condemn herself as the sinner she was. God could handle that.

Quick knocks at the opulently carved wooden door halted all movement, even their breathing. "Quinn?"

Fear swelled in her chest as something other than Rachel stopped her heart. In her peripheral, she spotted impossibly wide brown eyes and a gaping jaw. There was little comfort in knowing she wasn't alone in her horrified shock. It'd take a miracle to get out of this.

"Y-Yeah?" She grimaced at the rasp in her voice.

"I heard you shout." Her mother sounded genuinely concerned, then puzzled. "Honey, have you been crying?"

She nodded, forgetting her mom couldn't see her, which was probably a good thing. She doubted Judy Fabray was ready to discover her daughter was a lesbian, especially like this.

"Yes," Quinn admitted. "I, um…" Glancing at Rachel, she couldn't stop the roll of her hazel eyes at the helpless expression she found, which was less than reassuring and decidedly irritating. It was Rachel's fault they were in this predicament in the first place, she thought, slipping into her defensive Head Bitch in Charge persona and choosing not to focus on her own role in this transgression.

"Are you okay?" her mother pressed.

Clearing her throat, Quinn answered. "Yes, fine. I was… overcome with emotion at…being filled," Rachel's arms squeezed about her middle and she just knew it was an attempt to keep from laughing. It wasn't working. Quinn dug her fingernails into the top of the hand that'd taken her over the edge only moments before, and Rachel immediately stilled. "Feeling filled with God—I mean the love of God," she hurriedly added, shaking her head at how lame that sounded and tilting her face toward the ceiling of the cubicle. Divine Intervention would be a big help right about now.

The sympathy in her mother's voice was confusing, to say the least. "Oh, Quinnie. It'll be okay. I'll be in the sacristy with Sister Mary Clare whenever you're ready to come out."

Rachel snorted into the back of her neck. Quinn's nails dug deeper. "Thanks, Mom."

The fading click of Judy's heels on the marble church floor was more beautiful than any choir she'd ever heard. She released her girlfriend's hand and pulled away. Quickly adjusting and straightening her clothes, Quinn glared at the smirk she caught out of the corner of her eye. "It's not funny," she hissed.

"You're right, it's not funny," Rachel agreed solemnly, fixing her own appearance. "It's hilarious." She scooted back until she met the far wall of the confessional, which really wasn't far away at all. "So, how do I get out of here?"

Quinn could have killed her. "Past the sacristy." God had a really sick sense of humor.

"What is that, anyway?"

"It's like a dressing room and a prop room put together," she said absently, mentally calculating the distance from here to the nearest exit. The thud of the heavy sacristy door closing resonated in the hopefully empty church. Rachel had to go. Now.

"You guys get props?"

"Baby, shut up." Wincing at the sting between her legs, she stood and tugged the brunette off the floor. She reached for the door knob just when the other door creaked open and the priest entered his side. The viewing screen was still open. Quinn yanked Rachel to the ground with an "oof" and landed on the kneeler, hard. She'd be surprised if her knees weren't bruised later.

Father Ted's soft brogue slipped through the screen's intricate weaving. "All right then. We'll begin, In the Name of the Father, and of the Son…"

Her head spun around to meet Rachel's amused eyes. The muscle memory response of hearing the priest's words had Quinn unconsciously crossing herself while watching her girlfriend bite her bottom lip to keep from smiling and settling in for the wait. They were stuck.

Quinn turned back, absolutely stunned and scandalized. She unwound her rosary and pressed her hands together in prayer, prepared to implore _any_ deity—Christian or not—to make this as quick and painless as possible. Rachel was not included in that pantheon.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

"Don't forget about the swearing, Quinn."


End file.
